Neither Love Nor Money
“How’s Bernadetta feeling?” Jean leaned over Max’s cubicle, wearing the familiar pouty-sad smile all female staff put on when they passed his workspace. “Doin’ okay?”
Since when do you care how she’s feeling? Max wanted to say. You b***h about Detta more than anyone!
But all he managed to mutter was, “Same as always.”
Max held his tongue because Jean was holding a huge tub of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. As much as he loved Bernadetta, he wanted a bowl. The three o’clock lull hit hard and he needed a sugar rush.
When she didn’t offer any, Max asked, “What have you got there, Jean?”
The creases around her grey eyes multiplied as she smiled. “I made poor Bernadetta a batch of my grandmother’s special chicken noodle soup. Should lift her spirits some.”
